


Dinner Plus Movie

by jedishampoo



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2012-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-20 13:27:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedishampoo/pseuds/jedishampoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Movie night at America's place is traditional. Even more than a century in the future. UKUS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinner Plus Movie

**Author's Notes:** Written for the USUK Anthology, the "Future" prompt.  Damegaby provided a CUTETASTIC artwork she provided for it! Here's a [link to the artwork on her tumblr](http://dame-mas-gaby.tumblr.com/post/37015454090/aw-man-im-so-excited-to-sit-down-and-read-this).   
  
  
  
  
For the first time in like, forever, America had shown up in person, in real, live, jumping-with-anticipation, solid flesh. Since the meeting's host LAN was in Washington, he'd figured it was only polite. He'd even worn a suit. Unfortunately, his plain navy-blue jacket, pants, and tie were downright boring next to the arr-avs some of the other political entities had sent; Hungary's av wore some centuries-old engraved armor, and Unified East Asia had fielded a team of what looked like orbital techs.  
  
As second-politest entity and America's friend, Japan had also come in person. But he had other pressing engagements after the meeting, pardon me, America-san, and as everyone's avs blinked out, he bowed and trod in a well-bred hurry over to the transiting room. And as for number one, well, he'd shown up in the flesh, too. But that was just how it was supposed to be. He waved goodbye to Japan and walked over to America.  
  
"Don't you look dapper for once," England said, and America felt much less boring. He straightened his posture, just a little. Okay, maybe he preened. Just a little.  
  
"Well, I was kinda hoping we could have dinner and see a movie," he said.  
  
England sighed and loosened his tie. His suit with its short jacket was vintage 2080s, America would swear it, but then England had always liked old-fashioned things. "Sounds lovely, except for the movie part. And no burgers, if that was what you were planning," he said.  
  
"Real dinner, I promise. And I just got a video upgrade to my home peetee. You'll change your mind about the movie when you see it. It's completely bongo."  
  
"A proper date, eh?" England said. He looked away, but America caught the almost-smile that wriggled at the corner of his lips.  
  
"Only the best for proper compadres in the Western Alliance."  
  
England looked around the now-empty room. Then America felt England's fingers clasp his, just at the fingertips, and the world felt more right, like the two of them had been shaken up in a box and allowed to settle into their natural positions.  
  
"Take Spain on a date and it's civil war," England said. _Huh_. Some things did change.  
  
***  
  
And ... some things didn't. England wasn't impressed with proper dinner—Italian at an autoprep diner, no people serving you, it's just wrong, he'd said—and back at America's house he got all jaw-dropped gapey at the little ticket booth America had set up just outside his theater room.  
  
"Two tickets, please," America said to the young man he'd bribed into working the setup.  
  
"Let me guess: that's an intern? And did you just give him paper money?" England asked, narrowing his eyes.  
  
"Yeah. From the Senate. The intern, not the money. Shoot, that I had in a box that was lying around," America said. The intern—Rogers? Roberts?—cradled the money on his open palm and then gently slid it into the old cash register's creaking drawer, just like they'd practiced. He handed America the two plastic slips he'd made up like tickets.  
  
"That's, that's ..." England said, and then just gaped some more. He clenched his hands at his sides, staring at the cash register like he was trying to restrain himself from snatching the precious antique money and whisking it away to climate-controlled safety.  
  
America winked at RogersRoberts. "I thought you'd appreciate it, England! It's traditional and everything."  
  
"It's madness. Dear heavens," England moaned, as the ticket-selling boy zipped out from behind the counter and stood at the vid room door to become the ticket-taking boy.  
  
When RogersRoberts made them popcorn and poured them some sodas, England just rolled his eyes. Still, it didn't stop him from plucking a few buttery kernels out of the bucket and poking them into his mouth as they went into the theater room. They took the two seats in the center.  
  
"Can I go home now, Mister Jones?" RogersRoberts called from the door.  
  
"Sure! Thanks, buddy," America told him. He dug the superuniversal remote out from under his ass and slid his thumb across the screen, activating Ginger and her sound, VR, and seat sensor controls into standby mode. His personal theater was the latest and the tastiest, yep.  
  
"Where did you get these old chairs?" England said, plonking his soda into the drink holder set into the chair arm.  
  
"I have a lot of stuff in my shed. Wanna guess what the movie is? It's from Stars Amalgamated Studios. So you know it's gotta be uber-fiendsome, right?"  
  
England had gone totally still, and his big eyebrows had drawn down so low they were practically pushing into his chin, and America had a feeling it wasn't his slang that had gotten England all worked up. "Don't tell me. Is it that outlandish, thieving, utterly _superfluous_ drivel they've concocted to besmirch yet another of my classics—"  
  
"No! It's Harry Potter and the Galactic Terror."  
  
"That's it! That's the one," England griped, poking America in the arm, hard.  
  
"Ow! It has some of your actors in it to make it all authentic—"  
  
"I was livid when I heard about it. Curse your paltry copyright laws!"  
  
"Oh, come on. They're your laws, too. And Japan's been doing this sort of stuff for years!" America pointed out.  
  
"It's ... it's ... cheeky. It's blasphemous," England said with another arm-poke.  
  
"It opens tomorrow, but I got an advance copy. Why don't you experience it before you go all chaotinous on me?"  
  
England sank back into his seat and crossed his arms and legs. He took a huffy-looking sip of his soda before he answered.  
  
"I'm sure I shan't enjoy it."  
  
And that attitude was vintage ... forever, America supposed. As long as he'd known England, anyway. It used to tick him off, but not anymore; it made his insides grow all tingly and smiley. Boy, he'd really missed England. Virtual immersion chat was cool but just didn't beat having him here, all solid and grumpy. He fake-coughed into his hand to keep it all from coming out in a sappy, nostalgic kind of grin.  
  
"You might enjoy it," America said, slowly.  
  
England only made a grumbling noise in reply. But at least his eyebrows had returned to their normal position, somewhere up under the tufts of his blond bangs.  
  
Before England changed his mind, America addressed his peetee. "Ginger: get me file SAS1 GT7B. "  
  
Ginger plink-beeped and the Star Amalgamated Studios logo formed onto the ceiling, pulsing to the _whom-whom_ of the surround sound.  
  
"Wanna be a POV character?" America asked. "Or do you—"  
  
"No, regular theater mode, if I must, please," England said.  
  
That was too bad. America had sort of wanted to see the movie as Harry. Or even as the bad guy, whatshisname. "You miss plain old 3-D, don't you? Or even 2-D, ha ha."  
  
"Hell, I miss reading paper books sometimes," England admitted before nibbling on some more popcorn. "It's ..."  
  
"... traditional?" America grabbed a handful of popcorn out of the bucket and stuffed it in his mouth. He took a long sip of soda to soften it all.  
  
"I was going to say comforting," England said. He glanced at America's mouth and raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Uhmph-huh. How about stone tablets?" America made a chisel-and-hammer motion with his hands, which England grabbed. His fingers were warm. Strong, for how slender they were.  
  
"Don't even pretend you're old enough to have done that."  
  
America swallowed and grinned. England's half-smile made a brief encore appearance before he released America's hands. Well, most of them: America let him keep the two fingers he was rubbing in that cute, absentminded way. "Ginger: initiate audience mode, film go."  
  
The logo spun and the movie began.  
  
***  
  
Man, right from the get-go the movie was as fiendsome as America had expected. An ancient Antarctican blood cult, released when the ice shelves had receded briefly in the 70s, revived Voldemort, who then made a sinister deal with Galactic Overlord Xenu to take over the Solar System. And Ginger outperformed herself; even in audience mode they were in the thick of it. The Antarctic cold was downright freezing, and the rumble of the old, remodified seats as Voldemort's ship came out of light-speed was pure tremendous.  
  
America managed to ignore all of England's snorting noises. Sometimes, though, England would gasp and America would have to glance over, wanting to see if the movie had won him over at last, but somehow it always seemed like he was gasping in outrage instead of awe. At least England wasn't punching him, and in fact had never let go of his hand, so America counted his blessings.  
  
Besides, the movie was too good to not enjoy. Harry followed Voldemort's ion trail to the Xenuvian mother ship, and he'd trained in martial arts to augment his magical powers so it was a melee fight all the way to the bridge—  
  
"No, no, no!" England said out of the blue, jumping to his feet and tossing America's hand back at him. His eyebrows were all narrowed and low again—America could see him in the flashes from the laser gunfight—and America braced for the verbal onslaught.  
  
But instead of hollering or punching him, England just slung a leg over America's outstretched ones and took a seat, facing him.  
  
"You're sitting on me," America pointed out even as he considered calling to Ginger for a pause, because maybe England was making his thighs happy but seriously, the movie was at an uber-exciting part—  
  
"Mmm-hmm," England said. Then he grabbed America's shoulders and shoved his face in close, kissing him, hard, and wow, America's heart was pounding and he wasn't sure if it was England's liplock or the soaring music in the background, or both, maybe.  
  
After a minute or so England went to nibble on his earlobe, and America could speak again. Sort of.  
  
"Huh. Are we, uh, making out now? Should I turn off the movie?"  
  
"I thought making out in a darkened movie theater was traditional, as well? Am I remembering incorrectly?" England said in a voice just loud enough to be heard over the movie, and only because his mouth was pressed to America's ear. It was breathing hard and doing all sorts of bongo things to America's limbs, which were all floopy and clumsy instead of solid, working flesh. Virtual immersion had nothing on this stuff.  
  
"Yeah. Uh, yeah, it is."  
  
"Ah," England said and went back to the really distracting kissing and shoving himself so close that America was folded and unfolded and pressed into the split of his theater seat and enjoyed every breathless second of it. England's 2080s button-down shirt was old, but it was made out of really good material, soft under America's fingers.  
  
Some pleasurable time later America's own modern suit had gotten really uncomfortable; all of his clothes were just in the way, dammit. He also realized that his theater room had gone kinda quiet. He looked up past England's head and saw the SAS logo floating on the ceiling. Ginger was _whom_ ming softly, waiting for a command.  
  
"The movie's over! Bluh," he said. Someone's hair had gotten caught in the corner of his mouth.  
  
"So it is. What a shame," England said. He sat back on America's knees and looked at his watch. "Perhaps we should progress our proper date to the next step?"  
  
"What?" Somehow America had lost control of his perfectly planned date. England raised his hand and America thought he was going to be on the receiving end of a forehead-poke, but he just had his hair ruffled.  
  
"You make me tea in the morning," England said. Then his eyes widened. "Wait, no! I'll brew the tea. I suppose I can make you coffee, if I must."  
  
"I've already got the coffee set to be made automatically," America said.  
  
The straight, decisive line of England's thin lips was stomach-wobble–inducing. "Then we can sleep in," he said.  
  
  
 _End._ Thanks for reading! All comments, from one word to as many as you like, are welcomed and much appreciated. Please let me know I do not write into a void, hee.


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